


Alternative

by thalassashells



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Monster sex, Oral Sex, intercural sex, to like the most excessive degree
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2017-02-16
Packaged: 2018-09-24 22:39:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9790280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thalassashells/pseuds/thalassashells
Summary: The Warrior of Light needs another plan to banish the Lord of the Inferno.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AnonymousRequest](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=AnonymousRequest).



> thank you for the request! had fun with this one  
> also known as: i told the warrior of light to fuck ifrit and she actually did it the absolute madwoman

   She’s been twiddling her thumbs for a good bell now, sitting alone and fully outfitted in the foyer of the Waking Sands while Minfilia makes what seems like an infinite number of calls inside. If she and the other Scions did not emerge soon, she was going to march away to the Bowl of Embers on her own. Minfilia’s voice continues to rise and fall as she contacts every informant, every diplomat, every company leader or captain, to what seems to be no avail.

   She finally emerges from her office, tense as though she has not relaxed in days. She offers a weak smile to the Warrior anyway.

   “I apologize for my delay. I do hope you can forgive me.” Minfilia sighs. The Warrior raises a hand.

   “Aye, aye. Not to worry. What’s the news on reinforcements?” She leans forward in her seat.

   “Well…” Minfilia sucks in a breath, “It seems there are none. The Flames are overwhelmed rescuing victims and defending Ul’dah’s walls, the Maelstrom insists they are facing their own surge of beast tribe violence, and Gridania once again refuses to intervene for lack of threat to their own borders. And none wish to risk their people to tempering.” She crosses her arms, brow furrowed as if still searching for some obscure solution.

   The Warrior assures her that she did all she could, and the room falls into a thick silence.

   After some deliberation, the Warrior asks: “Can a Primal speak?”

   Minfilia raises an eyebrow. “…Many of them, yes.”

   “Can they be reasoned with?”

   “Absolutely not.” Minfilia’s voice grows stern, “We cannot afford to lose you to such a foolhardy plan!”

   “Minfilia, please. What other plan have we?” She furrows her brow. Minfilia opens her mouth to argue, but closes it wordlessly.

   “He cannot temper me, we have no reinforcements, and everyone wants something.” She reasons, setting a hand on Minfilia’s shoulder, “Even strange, aether-formed monsters, eh?”

   “It is, ultimately, your choice.” Minfilia sighs, “But should anything go wrong with your negotiation, you must promise you will find a way out.”

   “Of course! I’ve no intention of dying, I assure you.” She smiles. “Now, just get me to this Bowl of Embers.”

\--

   The plan was simple: act helpless, and let the Amal’jaa do the hard work for her. She sits alone by the Oasis just far enough from Drybone to be an easy target. She’s yet to think of a good answer to Minfilia’s most important question: What do you plan to tell him?

   What did a primal want? He would desire only crystals for sustenance, land for his tribe would be impossible to negotiate without the Flames present, and he could not be allowed to _stay_ in the mortal plane, lest he suck the world dry with his very presence. Despite her lack of an answer and the fact that she will be face to face with a god very soon, she is almost relieved when the Amalj’aa finally appear on the horizon. The heat was starting to make her dizzy.

\---

   Bound with her hands behind her back, she is led ceremoniously into the Bowl of Embers. The heat is searing, and the air trembled as though fearful. She wonders, staring up at the black disc that blocked the sun away, why she thought a place with a name like this would be any cooler than Thanalan at large.

   Any other time, she may have appreciated the array of colors etched into the sky by the licks of flame trying to escape from behind the disc.

   She is pushed to her knees by a harsh hand on her back, and the Amal’jaa at her side leave to begin the summoning.

   “Lord of the Inferno, hearken to our plea. Lord of the Inferno, deliver us from our misery…”

   The leading Amal’jaa raises his staff high, a lone ember burning in the core of its tip as he completes his prayer. The gleam somehow seems to reflect off the hole in the sky where the sun should be, a cross of light flashing across it before it erupts into an orb of flame.

   Ifrit emerges horns first from the center of the flame. First prying open his jagged jaws that resisted as though they had been welded shut, unleashing a roar that pierced the air, then he came plummeting down from his shaded star like a meteorite.

   The blast is not enough to push her or her Amal’jaa guides back as he lands with a booming thud, but it knocks the wind out of her all the same.

   Unfurled, he is distinctly reptilian. Red scales cover his skin, that glows orange between them like he is still aflame.  It is no surprise to her that he would resemble his subjects, but she had not expected him to be so … majestic. His form was harsh and brutal, with his massive spines of stone and talons that could skewer her in a moment, but he moved with a commanding grace.

   “O Mighty Ifrit,” The leading Amal’jaa falls to one knee, gesturing at the Warrior behind him, “We bring before you an ignorant savage who knows not your godhead. If it please you, Lord, scorch her heathen soul with your cleansing flame, and mark her as your own.”

   She grows tense, shaken from her admiration of the primal she had been sent to banish. Minfilia had told her of the blessing of the Echo, that Hydaelyn would lend her grace to save her from tempering, but sitting here before Ifrit made her wonder if anything could break his sway.

   He exhales smoke, studying her with his orange eyes. With his first step forward the surrounding Amal’jaa scatter, making way for him to approach.

   He lowers his head to look her in the eye. Her heart pounds furiously in her chest, though hardly from fear. He radiates an inherent heat, setting her already overly warm body dripping with sweat. His mouth opens just a hint, a glow of blue gathering in the back of his throat. She loses track of his eyes for the sight of the long pink tongue sitting between his rows of jagged teeth.

   It is bitterly cold when his blue breath hits her. A wave of icy whispers, pawing at her burning skin, as if they are meant to sink inside of her. Anxiety boils in her stomach, wondering if she would be tempered after all, but a blue light of her own rises to counteract. A body fitting shield of light, forcing the cool mist to disperse.

   He snorts smoke, eyes flashing with displeasure as he recognizes her as one of Her chosen. She dares to smile up at him.

   “Any other tricks up your sleeve, my Lord Ifrit, or is that all?” her tone is dangerously playful for someone unarmed and unarmored. He roars into her face, giving her a long view down his gullet. “Now, now.” She _tsks_ , “I was only here to talk anyway, my good liege.”

   “Insolent child of Hydaelyn! Be grateful you still breathe!” he barks with flame on his lips, the little whips dangerously close to scalding her face. It’s all adrenaline now, the blooming pride that she could defy a Primal. Something else, too, drives her, for he is like nothing she’s ever seen before. They were meant to be enemies, but something in her belly wanted to make sure he didn’t slip through her fingers.

   “But breathe I do, eh? So why don’t we talk about why you’re here, before you bring Eorzea down in a blaze?”

   He rears his head back, his eyes wide with fury. She notices something change about his gaze with every bold word from her mouth, a sharpening. A focus. She somewhat hoped it was respect.

   “… I will deign to see what such a bold _mortal_ has to offer.” He lingers on the word, mocking. “Leave us, my disciples. I will speak with her alone.”

   She turns to look at the Amalj’aa she had not acknowledged since Ifrit had descended, only to see them cowering in absolute terror. She supposed it made sense, the fear of being punished for bringing bad food to a king. The leader nods furiously, muttering ‘yes’ and ‘of course, your godhood’ as he tried not to look like he was dashing from the scene with his fellows in tow.

   To her surprise, Ifrit then taps one claw on the ground, and her bindings dissipate into ash. She rubs away the rope burns on her wrists and shakes her hands.

   “How kind. Now, what shall we— “

   “No more of your blathering.” He hisses, “Make your offer.”

   “Well!” she says confidently, as though she had planned on getting this far in the first place, “Perhaps I can provide a…service, for his lordship? I am quite apt at any menial task set before me, as it turns out.”

   “You believe me in need of more servants?”

   “No! No, but if that does not please, perhaps I can give you something of a more,” the next words out of her mouth surprise even her, “personal nature?”

   Ifrit seems as taken aback as she is, once again leaning down close to her face.

   “Demonstrate your intent, mortal.” He commands.

   She steps forward and plants a kiss on his snout. The scale is smooth and warm, and it all feels more natural from there. He growls, bringing up a paw to push her effortlessly onto her back. She finds herself smiling again, petting his claws and hand that trapped her.

   He places one giant talon at the base of her neck, unbelievably gentle, and drags it just hard enough to tear the clothes from her body. She shivers, and gladly squirms to shed the remains. He licks one long stripe up her entire body, managing to just miss where she needs to be touched the most.

   She has no illusions that the slowly emerging red cock between his legs will fit inside of her, but her body reacts to the sight all the same. He must walk up over her to even position it, and she finds herself staring up at the bony angles of his chest, with the tip of his cock resting on her stomach. She waits a few moments, expecting him to start moving of his own accord, but he simply jerks his hips up against her as an order to begin.

   “Alright, alright…Patience pays, you know.” She says, and wraps two hands around Ifrit’s cock. The absurdity of the situation only hits when he rumbles again, thrusting into her hands as she slides them and smearing the beginnings of faintly glowing precum over her body. A Primal has no need to mate, so Ifrit had to have created this of his own vanity, or it was detailed in the imaginations of his summoners.

   Either way, it transfixed her. The rippling of his muscles beneath the skin, the primarily soft, glowing flesh of his cock dotted with scales like solid rocks among lava.

   He crouches lower to thrust at a better angle, for more contact with her body, and she gladly provides. She hitches her legs up around it, so that even without entering her his cock slides between her folds, providing desperately needed friction. She groans with every powerful piston of his hips, grinding her hips back against them the best she can.

   She lets her hands fall from his cock to instead dig her fingers into the ground, her head tossed to the side and all composure lost. She begs him to keep going, that she’s so close, just a little bit more, forgetting that she was technically here to please him and not the other way around.

   Unfortunately for her, gods had little regard for patience. She sees his back talons dig deep into the dirt as his back legs begin to tremble, and his cock twitches between her legs. She squeezes her eyes shut as she’s splashed with his sticky orange cum across her entire body. Some slips into her mouth anyway. It’s oddly tangy, but not unpleasant. She licks her lips.

   “You’ve made quite a mess down here.” She calls, tapping a hand against his foreleg to get his attention. Her voice is still breathy, hanging on the edge of completion, unsatisfied. He growls and pulls away from her, so she is once more lying under his nose.

   “You have pleased me.” He states plainly, as though he wasn’t speaking to someone covered in his release, “But you are not pleased.”

   His implied offer surprises her. For all his aggression and demands at the start, something in his voice had mellowed.

   She shakes her head, “Can you use that tongue of yours, Lord Ifrit?”

   “Are all mortals so crass in dealings with their superiors?” he sighs, but leans down to lick her all the same. His tongue is warm and heavy, swiping away his cum in long, broad strokes. He dips the tip between her legs, and she yelps, reaching to tightly grasp one of his foremost fangs. He then slides his whole tongue beneath her, lifting her from the ground to sit straddling it in his mouth.

   She’s upright, leaning forward against his snout so as not to slip entirely between his powerful jaws as she grinds against his writhing tongue. Between the moist heat of his breath, the slide against her clit, the graze of his teeth below her thighs, she comes with a loud gasp. Trembling all over, panting harshly against him while she tries to form a coherent thought again, or maybe see straight. Whichever came first meant little to her.

   He lets her down gently onto the dirt where her torn clothes lie.

   “What did you wish of my part of this bargain?” he asks, once again formal.

   She realizes very quickly that she had forgotten that her pleasure had been in pursuit of business.

   “Uh, allow me to make a call.”


End file.
